


So Long As I'm With You: Back To Washington

by claryclark



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 05:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryclark/pseuds/claryclark
Summary: Jamie is working with new president Dan Morgan on a project that is very close to his heart. Jamie and Claire head back to Washington and reminisce in the White House.





	1. A Man Of Worth

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first installment of a multi-part ficlet inspired by @lburks226‘s Lincoln Bedroom prompt. I’m not sure how long this will end up being, but I’ve got at least three chapters in mind. Thanks to @gotham-ruaidh for her help with this stage setting chapter! 💕

**_JAMES FRASER, FORMER SECRET SERVICE AGENT, HUSBAND TO FORMER FIRST LADY, TO BE PRESENTED PRESIDENTIAL MEDAL OF FREEDOM --_ ** _ December 11th, 1958 -- Washington, D.C.--   _

 

_ Yesterday, the White House released a list of individuals President Dan Morgan has chosen to award the prestigious Medal of Freedom.  _

 

_ Among these names was James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, a British national. Mr. Fraser is a decorated military officer, having served as a colonel in British Special Forces during World War Two.  During the war, he helped lead a joint operation with US forces. While completing a mission in France, Fraser was captured by the S.S. He was taken to a camp, where he was starved, beaten and tortured to reveal the location of his American counterparts. Mr. Fraser’s resolve in the face of that torture saved the lives of American soldiers, and countless others. While his service to the American people is the primary basis for this honor, it should also be noted that Mr. Fraser was shot preventing an attack on former First Lady Claire Randall while serving as a Secret Service agent in 1954.  _

 

_ Fraser left the Secret Service in the midst of the infamous scandal that ended the Randall Presidency. Shortly after his departure from the service, he married former First Lady Claire Randall. It is unclear when precisely the romantic relationship began.  _

 

_ President Morgan insists that his decision to award Mr. Fraser the medal is based solely on his impeccable service record. The President served beside Fraser in the War and witnessed firsthand the acts of heroism that inspired the award. Critics say that this decision is little  more than a publicity stunt, meant to embarrass former President Frank Randall. The rivalry between the current President and his predecessor is very well known. As of now, former President Randall has not released a statement. _

\------- 

__

Jamie gazed out the window, focusing all of his attention on the passing cars in an effort not to vomit. He fought the urge not to loosen the tie that felt too tight against his Adam’s apple. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn his dress uniform-- the one he’d worn only for special occasions as a colonel during the war. 

__

He wore a crisp white shirt under a bright red jacket. His chest was adorned with the hardware of a veteran— a gleaming patchwork of service remembered. The kilt was a checkered black and crimson— the tartan belted over his left shoulder, secured by a pin that bore the crest of the 151st Highland Brigade. 

__

He blew a deep breath out through his nose, cutting a glance to his left. Claire sat in the backseat of the town car beside him, her amber eyes running shamelessly over the lines of his body. 

__

“Och, Lass.” He said, feeling a flush in his cheeks. “For the last time, will ye stop staring?” 

__

Her eyes snapped up to his and she bit her lip, fighting back a smile. “I can’t help it!” 

__

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. 

__

“Really, Jamie I’m almost cross with you for not wearing it sooner.” 

__

“Oh, aye?” 

__

“Aye.” She nodded, smile slow and seductive. “You look positively dashing.” 

__

He knew she was trying to distract him, and normally the sly tilt of her eyes on him, the sultry tone of her voice, would have done the trick in an instant. Now, though, he couldn’t seem to ignore the tangled knot of dread twisting in his guts. He gave her a tight smile, knowing she wouldn’t buy it. 

__

He was looking out the window again when he heard the clicking of the seatbelt beside him. He turned his head just in time to find Claire coming up to her knees before him, pressing close against him. 

__

With one hand on his chest and the other whirling in the hairs at his nape, she pressed her forehead against his. 

__

Slowly, the world fell away. He couldn’t hear the traffic around them, couldn’t hear the radio crackling softly in the front seat. There was nothing, nothing at all, except her. In less than a moment, he was jelly beneath her hands. 

__

“Do you remember.” She said, breath warm on his lips. “What you said to me the morning I had to make that speech for the DAR breakfast?”

__

He couldn’t stop his lips from quirking up in a smile at the memory as he nodded against her. It felt like a hundred years ago, one of their first days in the White House. And yet, his mind recalled the vision easily. 

__

_ Claire pale and trembling in the White House kitchens, the note cards of her speech held tight in her trembling hands. Wanting nothing more than to comfort her, he’d put a hand on her shoulder-- a bold move at that point in their acquaintance--and said the first thing that came to his mind.  _

__

_ “Eyes on me, Mrs. Randall.” He’d told her in a low hushed voice. “Just keep yer eyes on me.”  _

__   
  


He nuzzled her nose in acknowledgement, before she captured his lips in a searing kiss. 

__

“Eyes on me, Mr. Fraser.” She said several minutes later, voice husky and sure against his panting mouth. “Just keep your eyes on me.” 

__   
  


****** 

__

It was eerie being back in the White House again after all this time. Instincts that ran through him as real and deep as the blood in his veins had his hand coming up to his ear, trying to flick on the piece that hadn’t been there for years. 

__

They were in the blue room on a raised platform. Jamie sat in row with the other honorees, at the very end closest to the President at the podium. One by one, they were called up and given their medals. Jamie was saved for last. 

__

“And now it is my great pleasure to introduce our guest of honor.” Morgan said into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, Colonel James Fraser.”  

__

Jamie stood stiffly, trying to remember how to breathe. He came to stand by Morgan’s side, chancing a desperate look into the crowd, searching for Claire. Panic gripped him when he realized the spotlight trained on them prevented him from seeing anything past the edge of the stage. 

__

The President draped the medal around his neck, shaking his hand firmly before turning back to the podium. 

__

“As you all know, Mr. Fraser is one of the medal recipients we are honoring this evening.” Morgan went on. “However, that isn’t the only reason he’s here with us this evening. I am proud to announce our partnership in an endeavor that is very close to both of our hearts.” 

__

Taking their cue, two aides emerged from the shadows off stage carrying a blown up photograph and easel. They quickly assembled the presentation before retreating once more. 

__

It was a photograph Jamie had taken himself from the back deck. It had been a clear day and you could see most of the property— the gardens, the stable, and all the wee cabins dotted in the trees. 

__

Morgan smiled at Jamie proudly. “Take it away, Fraser.” 

__

Jamie swallowed thickly, taking Morgan’s place behind the podium. He stared dumbly out into the crowd for a long moment, as his eyes struggled to adjust. Finally, he saw her. Front row center, looking at him like he was the only man in the whole world. 

__

Almost immediately, he felt an ease in the tense of his shoulders. He cleared his throat as he leaned in towards the microphone. 

__

“Good evening.” It was momentarily disorienting, hearing the boom of his voice echoing across the room. “First, I want to thank the President, for inviting me here this evening.” 

__

He willed his hands not to shake as he flipped to his next notecard. 

__

“A safe haven for recovering soldiers.” He began. “Fraser’s Ridge will be a full-service rehabilitation facility, complete with counselors, specialized physicians and physical therapists.” 

__

Without meaning to, his eyes zeroed in on Claire’s encouraging smile. Her lips parted, mouthing words silently. He couldn’t help but smile when he realized she was mouthing the words of the speech they’d rehearsed together countless times. He didn’t think she even realized she was doing it. 

__

The speech flowed out of him, each word easier than the last. Nearing the end, he was suddenly struck with raw shock of emotion he hadn’t seen coming. Blinking back tears, he found himself going off script. 

__

“In the War, ye have something to fight for. And then after, when ye come home, ye don’t have that anymore.”

__

Claire’s eyes were wide and shining, boring into him in that reverent, adoring way that made him feel ten feet tall.

__

“The trick to it, I think, is finding something… or someone…” His voice cracked painfully, and he coughed, cheeks reddening. “That makes yer own soul seem like something worth fighting for.” 

__

Tears were falling in slow columns down Claire’s cheeks. Jamie, fearing he was not far from finding himself in a similar state, decided he should start wrapping things up. 

__

“I found my reason to fight again in the mountains of North Carolina.” 

__

In an instant, he was back on the Ridge. Back in that fire shimmered darkness, picking up the charred remains oh his soul and surrendering them to Claire’s capable hands, piece by agonizing piece.  

__

Her lips were moving again, working under the steady stream of tears. Words he knew well, words that she fashioned into the very stitches that put him back together again. 

__

_ In this life, in every life…  _

__

The final words of his speech came out in a choked grumble of syllables. “It is my profound hope that many a fellow soldier will find that same peace on Fraser’s Ridge.” 

__   
  



	2. The Lincoln Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Me again! So here is the original prompt, from the lovely @lburks226 , that started this wee mini ficlet series! So thankful to her for the inspiration and wonderful encouragement! 
> 
> This one is like 75% smut guys! We’ll be getting back to plot in chapter three! 
> 
> If you haven't yet, go back and read Chapter One which I posted earlier today!

There was a time when Claire would’ve never even considered giving up their special home on the Ridge. The place that changed her, healed her. The idea of strangers walking through the garden she dug with Jamie, walking through the trees where they’d kissed for the first time, was beyond sickening. 

But now, things were different. They were building a new life together in Scotland and they were both far too practical to countenance hanging onto a second home on another continent. Still, the place was unspeakably special to them and they couldn’t let it go to just anyone. So then, when President Morgan approached Jamie with his idea to start a rehabilitation program especially for soldiers, everything seemed to fall into place. 

Claire sat in the front row during Jamie’s speech, bursting with so much pride she thought she might fall over and die. Her mind went back to that night in Paris, to that beautiful, broken man that wore his pain like iron chains. To the healing they found in each other. 

He looked like a giant, like some great stone mountain, standing before the podium, voice rolling in that same Scottish burr that danced through her dreams. Those ocean blue eyes trained on her, unflinching. 

*******

 

After the ceremony, a reception was held in the formal ballroom. Waiters in white coats weaved through the room, silver trays ladened with flutes of French champagne —champagne that ran warm and dangerous in Claire’s veins. She stood surrounded by a circle of Washington socialites, all clawing for her attention. A horrible jolt of deja-vu, that terrifying feeling of being swallowed by a sea of faces, ran through her. Turning her head, she found Jamie in a similar predicament, surrounded by a throng of admirers, and looking absolutely desperate about it. 

“Would ye mind excusing us for a second?” Geillis said, appearing at Claire’s side, seemingly out of thin air. 

Not waiting for an answer, she captured Claire’s arm in an iron grip, guiding her to the edges of the room. 

“Thank you.” She breathed, relieved smile fading when she realized they’d left Jamie behind. “But what about —?” 

“Och, the Fox will be fine.” Geillis laughed. “Besides, don’t tell me yer no’ getting the slightest bit of a kick out of this.” 

Teeth in her bottom lip, Claire’s eyes flicked back to her husband and she barely stifled a laugh. Her strong, composed, mountain of a man was positively at a loss. While it wasn’t even close to the same level of screaming, clawing, demanding attention Claire had been subjected to as First Lady, it was clearly very jarring for a man so used to watching from the shadows. 

After a few minutes of watching, the guilt set in. “Shouldn’t we…” 

“Och, relax. They’ll be calling for dinner any minute.” 

Sure enough, dinner was announced moments later and the crowds slowly floated away. Soon, only one of Jamie’s admirers remained. Claire recognized her almost instantly. Geneva Dunsany, the Vice President’s youngest daughter, flipping her black hair over her shoulder. Her scrawny pale hand reaching out, hovering in question, clearly asking if she could touch one of the many medals that adorned Jamie’s chest. 

“Oh for crying out loud.” Geillis hissed. “Can ye believe the nerve of that girl? Practically eye-fucking a married man in the middle of the White House!” 

Claire searched for that familiar pang of shame and jealousy — the one she used to feel in that other life with Frank, whenever another woman lingered too long in his company. But she felt nothing but mild amusement, mixed with pity, as Jamie all but rolled his eyes at the blatant advance. 

“She can look all she wants.” Claire shrugged, not a little smug, as her husband stepped back from the girl, promptly excusing himself. 

 

***** 

One thing Claire hadn’t been prepared for: sitting next to Jamie at a table in the White House. Her mind flooded with memories of him standing away from her, so close, but always out of reach. Memories of desperate want and longing. Memories that made sitting next to him now, so close she could smell the familiar spice of his aftershave, seem deliciously dangerous. Dangerous in a way that had her crossing her legs, rocking a little in her seat, desperate for friction, all before they’d even finished the first course. 

How many nights did she lay in a lonely bed, sweaty and writhing, hips rolling against her hand, aching for the scorching touch of callous hands? Being with Jamie had been nothing more than a fantasy then. A dark, forbidden thing that kept her teetering on a knife’s edge of lust and need. 

Now that she had Jamie in her bed and in her arms every night, she found that it was more —that he was more than she could’ve ever imagined. And yet, being here within the same walls that had seen her aching and desperate for a touch she believed she’d never feel, was damnably thrilling. 

 

Her hands shook as she brought the glass of wine to her lips for another long gulp. Risking a quick glance at Jamie, she nearly combusted on the spot. His hand gripping into the kilt at his thigh with white tipped fingers. The hardened steel set of his jaw, the far off look in his eyes, glazing over with lust and pain and memory. 

“Excuse me, won’t you?” She murmured to the table before balling up her cloth napkin and throwing it on her plate as she stood. 

She all but stumbled to the bathroom, gripping either side of the sink as she heaved her breaths. She ran cold water over her fingers, dabbing at her neck and cheeks in an effort to temper the furious heat that was coursing through her. It was several minutes before she felt even a semblance of composure. 

She exited the bathroom to find Jamie waiting for her, eyes dark and intense, as he dragged her away in the opposite direction of the reception. It’d been years, and yet he could still navigate the web of corridors with ease. A few moments later, he was shoving her into the cabinet room. 

They slammed up against the wall together, hands desperate and clawing, searching frantically for bare flesh. Jamie worked up her dress and got his hand tucked into the waistband of her panties. 

“Fucking soaked,” he snarled through his teeth at her jaw. 

Feral and mindless, Claire dropped to her knees without warning, Jamie’s fingers slipping out of her with a slick, stomach-clenching sound. Without missing a beat, she jerked up his kilt, adjusting her position until—

In the end, they missed the dessert course. Neither of them minded much.

*******

With the frantic, wild energy from the Cabinet Room still pulsing between them, Jamie and Claire excused themselves from dinner at the first opportunity. They were halfway to their bedroom when she realized that Jamie wasn’t walking beside her anymore. Stopping, she turned to see him walking a few steps behind her. 

“What are you doing?” She laughed, cocking her head to one side. 

He kept at a professional distance, hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Ma’am?” 

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “What are you playing at?” 

“I dinna ken what ye mean, Mrs. Randall.” He said, eyes wide, the picture of innocence. 

The name struck her like a knife in the center of her chest, and she was about to smack him, ask him why the hell he would call her that, when she noticed the suggestive tilt of his brow. Her mouth fell open with a small breathless sound, as he stepped a bit closer. 

“Ye look tired, ma’am.” He was anything but innocent now. His voice was low, rumbling in a way that had her toes curling in her shoes. “I should escort ye to yer bedroom.” 

“Y-yes.” She said, a little breathless, heat pooling in her cheeks and between her legs. “Thank you.” She held his eyes, sinking her teeth in her bottom lip, before adding a low and breathy, Mr. Fraser. 

She heard him curse under his breath as she turned to continue down the hall. He kept at least three paces behind her, as he had when they first began. She could feels his eyes on her, hot on the curves of her hips and ass, and it was all she could do not to break down that hallway at a full jog. 

Her old room was, of course, being used by the current First Lady. President Morgan had thus allotted them use of the Lincoln Bedroom. At long last, Claire rounded the corner into the isolated corridor. She could hear him breathing behind her, panting with that same feral thing that made her skin feel too tight around her bones. 

The champagne, combined with her too-high heels and the desperate haste with which she was moving, caused her to stumble through those last few steps before the door. Jamie was on her in an instant, slamming her against the door, his front pressing hard into her back. She shivered, feeling the heat of him, hard as a brass rod against her, as she panted open-mouthed into the wood of the closed door. 

“Careful now, ma’am,” he rumbled before his teeth sank into the tender curve of her neck. “Would ye bid me see ye safely to yer bed?” 

Pinned and helpless and shaking against the door, she didn’t realize she was supposed to answer until he swept her hair to one side, biting hard into the nape of her neck. 

“Ah.” She arched back against him. It dimly registered to her that if Jamie tried to lift up her dress and take her there against the door in the open hallway, she would let him. There’s your headline, she thought wryly to herself, before a sharp, torturous roll of his hips had her hand flying back to thread a firm grip into his hair. 

“Hmm?” He rumbled against her, arms curved around her, hands smoothing down her front, keeping to her sides, so close and yet so horribly far from that throbbing center where she wanted to feel those hands. “Want me to take ye inside? Make sure yer safe?” 

Her breathing was loud and labored, her head moving in a jerky, frantic nod before he chuckled. His fingers pressed harder into the curve of her hips, fingers stretching, reaching so close to the ache between her thighs that she wanted to scream. 

“Ye ken well by now that’s no’ how it works.” He teased, warning her with another roll of his hips. “I need a verbal request if I’m to enter yer bedroom. Secret Service protocol.” 

“God.” She moaned. “Jamie--” 

“So informal.” He tutted. “Verra unprofessional, ma’am.” 

She laughed, short and biting, before sucking in a breath. 

“Mr. Fraser,” she said through gritted teeth. “Would you be so kind, as to see me safely to bed?” 

She felt the smile against the back of her neck. “My pleasure, ma’am.” 

With one arm wrapped hard around her waist, he opened the door, kicking it shut behind them as he walked them into the room.

Once inside, she tried to turn to face him but he kept his arms wrapped tight around her, ghosting his mouth up the curve of her neck. 

“Will that be all ma’am?” He murmured, so cheeky and smug, she almost wanted to hit him. 

“No.” 

“Oh?” He crooned, strong hands pushing at her hips, grinding her back into him. “What else can I do for ye then?” 

His hand snaked up between them to the zipper at the back of her dress. “Perhaps ye’d like me to help ye with this?” 

“Yes.” She huffed. “Please.” 

The zipper came down slowly, the sound of its descent down her back drawn out and steady. She shrugged her shoulders and the black satin slipped off easily, pooling at the floor about her feet, leaving her in nothing but her white lace bra and panties. 

Jamie grunted, apparently forsaking role playing for the moment in order to focus on more important things. He ran his thumb up along the notches of her spine, before snapping loose the clasp of her bra. Thumbs hooking into her panties, he knelt as he tugged them down, placing kisses on the backs of her thighs. He helped her step out of them, before rising back up to his full height. 

She turned, skin slipping in his embrace, making a quick grab between his legs before he could stop her. 

“You know what I first thought when I felt this against me?” She asked, ghosting her lips over his. “That time, in the barn. That first time that we… when we almost—” 

“Aye.” He croaked, bringing a hand up to knot in her hair. He tried to tug her in for a kiss, but she resisted, jerking back, tilting her face up so he could see the fire burning in her eyes. 

“I wondered if it would even fit.” She said slowly, deliberately, the “t” sound hissing out of her, lower lip tucking under her teeth. “And then all I could think of for days was how it would stretch—” 

He jerked her off her feet, walked over to the bed, and tossed her onto it. The frenzy paused for just the briefest of moments, long enough for him to carefully remove the medal from around his neck, tucking it away in his suitcase for safekeeping, before returning to her at the bed. He stood between her open legs, working the buttons of his jacket and shirt as she shivered against the cold duvet. When his hands went to unbuckle his kilt, she lifted her leg, pressing her heel against his shoulder. 

“Leave it.” She demanded, eyes running over the finely carved muscles of his bare chest and stomach. 

He grinned wickedly, turning his head to press a kiss to her ankle before crawling onto the bed, shifting them up until they were centered on the mattress. Once they were settled, he kneeled between her parted legs, tracing light circles in the soft flesh of her inner thighs. After a few minutes of this, she was wriggling against him, trying in vain to arch up, frantic for some kind of relief. 

“Jamie,” she whined. 

He huffed a laugh. “Ye desperate wee thing.” 

“Please…” 

Christ, he cursed under his breath.

His eyes softened for just a moment, rooting her to the spot, swirling with a tenderness that ripped the breath from her lungs. 

“Look at you.” He murmured. “How was I supposed to not want ye?” 

She swallowed, hard. “Jamie, I—” 

The words died on a yelp in her throat as his hands hooked under her, hauling her up, spreading her wide. He hunched forward and attacked that restless heat inside her with a hungry, persistent mouth, working loose that maddening knot of desire bit by bit, until she felt loose and stretched and endless.

With one hand threaded deep in his hair, she reached another one back, bracing against the headboard as she rolled her hips against his face, going even crazier when she felt him groan in response. 

He worked her to a pulsing, mind-numbing finish before pulling back for a minute, letting her recover as he rested his chin on her pubic bone. He ran a heavy, reverent hand up her stomach, trailing his fingers along the curves of flesh he knew better than his own. 

“I used to lie awake for hours, thinkin’ about how sweet ye’d taste.” He grumbled against her. “I had no idea….fuck—” He broke off with a desperate groan, repositioning himself, licking her up with a slow, broad stripe. 

 

Sometimes she wanted to laugh out loud when she thought of what sex was to her before Jamie. She tried not to think of Frank if she could help it, and generally that wasn’t a hard feat to accomplish. But it was just so ridiculous, how indifferent she’d been to sex when it came to him. Even more so ridiculous, when compared to the ravenous, near constant desire that burned within her now. 

What felt like hours later, he was rising up over her, arms braced up on either side of her head, grinning with slick lips and a glistening chin. 

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” He asked for the second time that evening, turning his head to wipe his mouth on his arm. 

She growled in response, reaching down in between them, finding his cock hard and pulsing. She wriggled desperately, aching, trying to bring him to her, while he simply held himself up over her, watching serenely. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, did ye need something?” 

Her hand flew up, taking a hard, wild grip of his chin, fingers and nails pressing against the curve of his jaw as she drew his face in closer. 

“Do it now.” She ordered through gritted teeth. “And don’t be gentle.” 

The smile dropped from his face as he cursed under his breath. He reached back, gripping her leg, bringing it up to hook over his shoulder. A single, hard thrust, and he was deep inside her, groaning out a bitten off curse. The back of her thigh smashed against his chest as he leaned down over her, setting a hard rhythm.   
The ghosts of that past they shared together in that place hung heavy around them, lighting a fire that consumed them, spurring them to a ferocious coupling, the likes of which neither had ever known. 

“Fuckin’ perfect.” He growled, breath hot on her face. “Always so perfect and wet for me.” 

Her thighs shook against him and she climbed higher and higher, feeling like she was coming apart at the seams, feeling like she might fly apart into a million pieces were it not for his weight on top of her, anchoring her. 

“Because yer mine.” He said, his words punctuated by the smooth, rolling snap of his hips. “Only mine. And everyone knows it.” 

“Yes!” She cried, sobbing and panting, her head falling back, eyes slamming shut. “Jamie—” 

“Uh-uh.” He tutted, working a hand into her hair, twining hard, jerking her head back up. 

“Eyes on me, Mrs. Fraser.” 

She huffed out a sound —something like a laugh, caught on a sob, before opening her eyes. He kept his grip in her hair, holding her up a little off the pillow until their foreheads were almost touching. 

He was something wild and feral, loving her, destroying her, worshipping her. It was a violent battle as much as it was tender lovemaking as they clawed and begged and ravaged. She was so close she was shaking with it. 

“Aye. That’s it.” He rumbled, feeling her about to fall apart around him. “That’s it, baby, c’mon.” 

She came with a loud, keening whine, calling out for him incoherently, sobbing as she shook violently. It felt like everything in her was rushing out, seeping and cleansing with the relief of release. 

“Claire.” He heaved, driving into her now with no restraint, finishing with a groan that had her hips twitching up involuntarily. 

 

He rolled off her, collapsing on his back beside her as his chest heaved.She was equally starved for breath, blinking up at the ceiling. 

“That was…” She trailed, unable to find words. 

“Aye.” 

She turned her head to see him lying limp and boneless, well loved and spent. The toll of the day, combined with that of their more recent labors, seemed to rush up on him all at once. She watched as his eyes slowly fell closed, his breathing going slow and heavy within moments. 

The smile on her face spread wide and hopelessly fond as she scooted closer to him, nestling into his side. She tucked her head into the curve of his neck, throwing an arm to drape over his chest. 

“I love you,” she whispered, breathing into his neck, forehead pressed against his cheek. In that moment, it was almost too much. He was almost too much. What she felt for him, how desperately she needed him, how easily she could’ve been doomed to a life without him — all of it, almost too much. 

“Oh, God.” She wept, pressing herself as close against him as she could. “I love you.”


End file.
